He rolls my pajama pants and underwear down my legs, spreads me wide, then he just looks at me. Although my underwear is granny panties, my pussy is pure Brazilian, and Lincoln’s eyes bug out of his head like a character in a cartoon.
"So fucking beautiful," he says, sliding a finger over the smoothness of my mound. I feel like I should be putting the brakes on this, but I can't seem to find the will to do so. The weeks of working in close proximity, the stolen glances, and the fantasies are about to culminate into something explosive.
He leans in close, uses his thumbs to open my nether lips, then bends his head to swipe my sex with his tongue. He strokes into my pussy with his tongue, and my hips lift off the couch.
He looks up at me, cocks an eyebrow, then grins.
"Be a good girl, and hold still," he says. He dives back into me, lips first, and with pinpoint accuracy, locates my clit and begins to suck on it, prompting me to buck hard against his face.
"Ahhhhh..." I scream.
He attacks me with single-minded purpose, and I continue to scream until my throat goes dry. His tongue makes teasing circles around my clit, then he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, driving me crazy. I haven't had a ton of lovers, and Lincoln is the first to both find my clit and to act on the discovery. In my experience, most men treat a woman’s clit as if it were a curiosity, and not meant for anything other than to make a note of, not actually take the knowledge any further than that. At most, I might get a few swipes of the tongue before the dude moves on to other things.
Lincoln seems to think of clits as the pleasure-inducing organs they are, rather than a checkmark on the foreplay to-do list. It is clear he considers my clit a destination in itself, rather than a mile marker on the orgasm superhighway. It feels wonderful, but also tortuous, as the attention he shows to the area makes me forget my name. He drapes my legs over his broad shoulders, and his arms wrap around my thighs to pin me in my place.
He is ruthless in both the tongue action and his restraint as my legs shake and my body strains for a soul-flattening release. He works for it, too; his face smashed into my pussy, making appreciative grunts, and humming vibrations into my pussy.
"Come for me," he mumbles against my mound. My brows furrow. I blink at him, because who comes on command like that?
My question is answered half a minute later when my orgasm slams into me in a pleasurable rush, rippling over my skin with a rushing heat. I can do nothing more than release a long, guttural moan to punctuate the most soul-shattering climax I have ever experienced.
I am boneless. A puddle of quivering flesh, glazed eyes, and a profound lack of will. I am simply coasting on the cloud of bliss, gently floating back to earth. When I am able to focus again, I see Lincoln looking at me with an expression of male satisfaction in his eyes.
It only belatedly occurs to me that this could be a terrible idea. The fact that this only occurs to me after my own orgasm is purely coincidental.
"Hey," he says, his voice husky. I blink out of my orgasm stupor. "You with me?"
His blue eyes have gone dark, the irises swallowed by the dilated pupils. He crawls up to me, plants himself between my legs, and reaches for my tank top.
"You're not wearing a bra," he says huskily.
And I'm not, because after a long day, the first thing that comes off after my shoes is my bra. When I engage in self-care in the form of ice cream and Netflix dating shows, I'm not wearing makeup or anything else. My condo is my sanctuary. I study his features, wondering what is going through his mind. I see passion in his eyes. Traces of my womanhood decorate his lips. He leans in and trails a finger down the middle of my chest, raising goosebumps, making my nipples pucker with excitement.
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask.
He sits next to me on the tiny loveseat. He uses his strong arms to lift me like a bundle of feathers, and then, I'm face-to-face with him, straddling his lap. He starts nuzzling the skin of my neck, making it hard to focus on anything but the way he feels, the way we feel together. The Snuggie is half off my shoulders as he slides his hands under the hem of my tank top. One hand braced on my back, the callouses of his fingers rasp against my sensitive skin. The other hand palms the swell of my breast, squeezing it, making me arch into his touch.
Heat fills his eyes as he studies me.
"It's not a bad thing at all," he says. "I've been fantasizing about these tits since I met you."
He grabs my ass. "I've been fantasizing about this backside since your purse exploded that day at the dry cleaners, and the stuff inside went in five different directions," he tells me.
"You find feminine hygiene products that alluring, huh?" I tease, thinking of how my tampons went flying out of my purse that day.
"I find thong panties pretty hot," he says.
Even though I'm making out with Lincoln, his comment still elicits a blush. I can feel my face prickling with heat at his raunchy words.
"Every time you bend over in those tight ass jeans, I want to grab that ass and see which thong panties you're wearing," he whisper-growls. "But your naked ass is even better."
To emphasize his point, he pinches an ass cheek, causing me to yelp and squirm. He chuckles and sticks his nose back in my neck.
I know I should be more cautious with this man. I have been resisting my attraction to him for weeks now, and it's not helping my ridiculous crush. He's the forbidden fruit that, consequences be damned, I want to pick. I decide that before we go any further, I need to lay some ground rules.
"Lincoln," I say, struggling to surface from the tsunami of lust. "Wait a sec..."
"Hmmm?" he asks, breathing warm, moist breath against my skin.
"Lincoln, wait," I say, this time more insistent. "Hang on..."
He blinks at me and stops moving his hands on my body, giving me his full attention. There are questions in his blue eyes.
"I just want to make sure we are on the same page on what's going on here," I say, my words cock-blockingly awkward. I place a hand on his chest. I'm surprised to find his heart beating fast under my fingertips. He places his hand on mine.
"What do you think we're doing?" he asks, giving me a sideways look.
"What I mean is..." I start, wondering what I mean as well. "I don't want to become involved with you."
Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, given that I'm hot and wet, straddling him like he's a mechanical bull, nipples tight with desire. I can smell my pussy on his lips. Clearly, we are already involved.
"I mean..." I trail off again.
Lincoln starts stroking me, his hands touching my back, my thighs. His touch is kind of mesmerizing, his pale skin on my darker complexion provides a compelling contrast, a visual drama in itself. The light callouses send shivers over my skin. His scent, combined with my own, makes me forget I shouldn't be so into my boss. Client. Whatever.
I shake myself out of my wayward thoughts. "We are not going to be in a relationship," I say, gesturing between the two of us. I need Lincoln to understand that I'm not doing a relationship with him. Not that he is asking for one, per se, but it's best to make sure we are on the same page.
I go on hastily, "I mean, we can fool around, but I'm not going to become emotionally involved with you, okay?"
He squints at me, clearly confused.
"So," I reiterate. "We can fool around, but we are not going to start dating, or anything like that. I know we've had some, um, tension between us. The past few weeks, I mean."
Yeah, I sound just like I caught a case of diarrhea of the mouth. Lincoln keeps looking at me, still without a word, but the confusion has morphed into amusement. It's awkward, no doubt, but I need to clarify this. I need to make sure I don't wind up in another Becker situation.
"So!" I say brightly. I pat him on the chest. "Since we have that cleared up..."
Lincoln wraps his large hands around me, pulling me close, our eyes still on each other until our lips are mere inches apart. I feel his chest muscles flex
under my fingers. There is a light dusting of crisp, dark hair showing above the collar of his t-shirt. I want to stick my nose in the hollow of his neck and just...inhale.
When he speaks, his breath fans over my face. We breathe into each other's mouths.
"Don't be so quick to put limitations on what we might have," he says. His eyes are dark with some unspoken meaning, his lips and the laugh lines around his eyes holding faint traces of humor.
I squint at him, trying to discern his meaning.
"I'm not ever going to make you do anything you don't want to," he says. "If we do this thing, you need to know a couple things."
Tension crackles between us. I feel my lips twitch, and an uneasy humor bubbles inside me. I'm about to jump out of my skin, I'm so excited. The bastard is excited enough to be stiff like a steel pipe, and I can tell because my pussy is as close as it can get to him, given the fact he's still wearing his jeans. And there's the heart that throbs under my hand. His body is excited, but his face is calm.
"What are the two things?" I ask.
"One," he says, cocking an eyebrow. "Well, in order of importance, it's actually number two, and here it is: you can walk away whenever you want to. In fact, we both can."
My fingers drum against his sternum. I nod in assent, but I'm impatient. I want to finish with the talking and proceed with the fucking.
"The other thing is that I'm going to ravish you," he says. I'm confused, wondering what he means, and it must show on my face.
"I'm going to unleash every single filthy fantasy I've been harboring about you since we met," he says with a wolfish grin on his face.
"Every filthy fantasy?" I draw circles on his sternum. Should I be a little afraid of his filthy fantasies?
He gives this some thought.
"We might not have time to get to everything," he says. There's a feral look in his eyes that could be a good thing...or an even better thing.
"But...the night is young," I say. "We can get to a few of them."
Chapter Fourteen: Lincoln
Samantha is a beautiful woman. Her skin is so smooth that it almost doesn't look real. Not to be cliché, but her skin reminds of me of the molten milk chocolate cake we offer in all the Cooper’s restaurants. Our dessert is filled with warm ganache, and like the cake, Samantha is soft, sweet and warm. Sensual. Meant to be eaten slowly; meant to be savored.
Only, when I see Samantha settle in the middle of her white duvet, naked from the waist down, wearing nothing but a pair of white athletic tube socks and a white tank top, my dick wants to burrow into her, bury myself to the hilt. Her hair is bushy and wild, standing out from the delicate bones of her face like a black cloud. She is loose from the orgasm I've just sucked out of her tight, wet pussy. She crouches on the bed on her haunches, leaning forward with her arms positioned between her legs. She's hiding that hot little pussy of hers from my view. Her eyes are teasing me, dark, so dark I can't see just how dilated they must be at the moment.
One side of her closed lips kicks up in a smirk. She crooks a finger at me, beckoning me closer. I walk toward the bed and stand at the foot, watching her. I pull my shirt over my head, toss it aside, and reach for my wallet. I toss it on the bed for easy access when it comes time for me to sheath myself. I unbutton my jeans to ease the pressure at my crotch.
"Lie back," I say. "Spread your legs for me."
I wait to see if she obeys me. Samantha is a headstrong woman...but I suspect she's one who enjoys being bossed in the sack. She watches me with her big, brown eyes, but she doesn't move. Instead, she gives me a coy look that conveys, "Make me."
I lean forward, touch her shoulders with the tips of my fingers, and push her back on the bed. She giggles as I cover her body with mine, attacking the shell of her ear with my teeth until the giggles give way to girly-sounding, helpless shrieks. She wiggles against me, trying to put space between us, when she brushes against my jean-clad crotch, torturing my swollen dick. She freezes, and her wide, brown eyes meet mine. She gives another experimental wiggle, and my dick remains unmovable. She purses her lips and squints at me.
"Um..." she starts to say, but I halt her sentence with my lips on hers. Her lips are beautiful. They always manage to look kiss-swollen, and they always seem a little moist. She tastes sweet, like the ice cream she was eating when I arrived. My tongue plunders the wet heat of her mouth. Her hands wander to my ass, and she gives it a squeeze.
"I've fantasized about you touching me," I gasp into her mouth. "I've fantasized about touching you like this."
"You have?" she hums. The front of the Snuggie gapes open a little obscenely, the dark tips of her tits pointing up at me, as dark as the chocolate ganache in a lava cake. I cup a breast, feed it into my mouth, my tongue circling the tip as she gasps and moans and arches into my hungry mouth. Her nipples are taut, even with me sucking at them, and I have the bizarre, fleeting image of a baby suckling her, a pretty beige baby with a slick of black hair. My baby. Our baby.
I blink against the weird, distracting thoughts and turn my attention back to the task at hand.
I dip a finger inside her pussy, slick and dripping wet, and her clit is erect. Even though I licked and sucked her to orgasm, she still has more orgasms to be coaxed out of her body.
As if she reads my mind, she pulls on my hair, bringing my head up to look into her eyes.
"Let's fuck, Lincoln," she smiles, a seductive gleam in her eyes.
Needing no further invitation, I quickly shuck off the remainder of my clothing, sheath myself with protection, and gripping her hips, I plunge into her to the hilt. She has ignited something primal inside of me, and I fall into a vortex of flesh, heat, and sex. I want to climb inside of her body, desperately so, and my resolution to take it slow goes to hell. My dick inside her, my balls draw up almost instantly. I hold myself still, not wanting to come yet. She's tight, wet, and my entry has triggered pulses within her pussy. She sighs and moans.
"Hang on," I say, my voice husky. Gritty. "Give me a sec, it feels like you're strangling my dick."
She complies, and after a moment, I execute a cautious hip swivel. Her hips answer me with a coaxing movement of their own.
"Lincoln—" she starts.
"Don't move," I warn her. "I don't want to come yet."
"But I need you," she says, a whiny tone entering her voice. "You're so big, and you feel so good. I want you to fuck me good."
That did it. The filthy words trigger my primal self, and I enter sex beast mode. I brace myself on my elbows and drive into her, again and again.
And it is so, so good. So good. My body has a mind of its own, my hips snapping wildly, the tip of my penis somehow finding the spot inside her that feels firm, and when I drill into it, produces grunts of satisfaction, moans of deep pleasure, and finally, keening sounds that vibrate against my ear.
"Shit, shit, shit," I say, as my spine begins to tingle with my own impending explosion.
"Break me, break me," she chants. "Fuck my pussy. Fuck it."
She's a filthy, filthy girl.
"I am fucking you," I pant. "I'm fucking you so good that I'm ruining you for anyone else."
I mean every word of this. I want this to be good for her. I need this to be good for her. Because all that bullshit she gave me about not wanting a relationship is just that: bullshit. Once won't be enough—not for me. We don’t need to walk off into the sunset, but I need to fuck her, again and again, before I can be satisfied.
And if once won't be enough for me, I’ll have to convince her it's not enough for her, either. My thoughts are irrational, but also true. No other man will ever be able to please her like I do. And she's mine.
Mine.
"I'm coming!" she screams. I fuck her hard through her orgasm, and a moment later, follow her over the cliff to oblivion.
Chapter Fifteen: Samantha
I love Saturday mornings.
When I was a kid, my parents could be counted on to sleep in on Saturdays. Dana, my younger s
ister by two years, and I would get up early, make our own breakfasts, and get into all types of adventures, in an “inmates running the asylum” way. My parents didn't mind as long as we didn't make a mess and we avoided sibling bloodshed. Every Saturday, we’d make ourselves cold cereal and watch the television shows we were not allowed to watch on school nights. It was pretty easy to abide by our parents’ rules, which were strict the other six days of the week.
As an adult, I carried on this tradition. Saturday is a day of relaxation and a chance to recharge my batteries. This morning, I plan to roll over and go back to sleep, then get up and watch trash TV. But I remember that Hannah's ex has the kids all weekend, and we have plans to catch a matinee and hit a few thrift stores. I check my phone on my bedside table and see I have text messages from Hannah.
Hannah: Be there in 30. You owe me deets on your fine as hell boss.
Tough Customer: A Hero Club Novel Page 10